Ren still kept his eyes forward, following the rhythm of the Prince's stride till they got to the Academy's inner sanctum doors.
They reached the doors of the Chamber of High Sages—a massive rotunda of white marble where the scent of old parchment and burning incense was thick.
The guards at the door, clad in silver plate, didn't even look at Ren. To them, he was just a piece of the Prince's luggage. They opened the door and announced the prince's presence.
"Prince Cian von Valerius has arrived." "They bowed. "Long live the Star and future Sun of the empire."
They walked into the room with Ren following behind like a stray dog.
Inside, twelve Sages sat in a semi-circle. This time their faces were obscured by deep purple hoods.
In the center of the room stood a stone plinth holding a map of the Obsidian Forest, where the Royal Hunt would take place.
"Prince Cian," the head Sage croaked, his voice sounding like dry leaves rustling. "The resonance spike from the North Tower last night was... concerning. The Dean is worried that your core is becoming unstable before the coronation."
Cian stepped forward, his boots clicking with terrifying confidence on the marble.
He didn't bow.
"The spike was managed. As you can see, I am perfectly tempered today."
The Sages' collective gaze shifted to Ren. He felt their eyes crawling over his skin like insects.
"Is this the new Ground?" another Sage asked, leaning forward.
"He looks... fragile. A scholarship student from the outer rim? Surely he lacks the density to hold a Valerius meltdown."
It seemed like this was another set..' Ren thought on his heart, head still bowed.
"He is sufficient." Cian said, his voice flat. "He is more than sufficient. He is a sinkhole as you have tested before."
Julian stepped into the light then, a smooth, practiced smile on his face.
"The Prince is being modest, Elders. The boy is quite remarkable. He survived a Level Seven resonance burst without losing his mind. We intend to use him as the primary anchor for us three during the Hunt."
A murmur went through the Sages. Ren felt his blood run cold. A level seven burst was enough to liquefy a normal human's internal organs. The fact that they were openly discussing his survival as if he were a high-quality stress-ball made his stomach churn.
"Then he must be marked," the lead Sage declared.
He rose from his seat and descended the stairs, holding a branding rod made of cold-iron.
'Where did they even bring that from?' Ren took a step back, but Kael's heavy hand landed on his shoulder, pinning him in place.
"Stay," Kael grunted. It wasn't a suggestion.
'No.. shit..' He was panicking, his eyes were wide with terror.
The Sage approached Ren, the rod glowing with a faint, sickly green light.
"No." Ren's voice came out low and shaky but it was loud enough to silence the hall.
Everybody froze and all eyes turned to him.
"You don't have a choice. If you are to enter the Obsidian Forest with the Princes, you must be visible to the security wards. We cannot have the trackers mistaking a Null for a mana-beast."
"Is that necessary?" Cian asked, though he didn't move to stop it.
"The law of the Hunt, Highness," the Sage replied.
To Ren that didn't even make sense because he had no mana whatsoever to make someone mistake him for a mana-beast.
The rod touched the skin of Ren's upper arm. Ren let out a strangled gasp, his knees buckling. It wasn't a burn of heat, but a burn of logic. The iron mark was burning itself into his empty mana-core's , locking him into the Academy's grid.
In that moment of agony, the silver stitch in Ren's palm flared.
No, Ren screamed internally.
The Weaver power within him reached out toward the Sage's cold-iron rod.
For a split second, Ren felt the Sage's entire life-force—a tangled, dusty web of ancient, tired magic.
Ren's void core didn't just want to ground the brand; it wanted to erase the Sage. He could feel the immense hunger in his guts.
Ren bit his tongue until he tasted blood, forcing the Silver Stitch to retract. If he accidentally "harvested" a High Sage in the middle of the Chamber, he wouldn't just be killed—he'd be dissected. The only thing that kept him from falling to his knees was Kael's hand on his shoulders.
The Sage pulled the rod away, looking confused. He checked the tip of the iron, then looked at Ren's arm. The mark was there—a faint, glowing "V" for Valerius—but it looked... faded. Dull.
"Strange," the Sage muttered. "The skin is resisting the ink. Your Null core is deeper than the records suggested."
"He is a very deep well," Julian purred, stepping closer to inspect the mark. He looked into Ren's pained eyes and winked. He knew. He had seen the way the green light of the brand had been sucked into Ren's body like water down a drain.
"Enough," Cian snapped, clearly annoyed by something. "The branding is done. Give us the coordinates for the Beast-Den."
The meeting continued for another hour, a blur of maps and strategies. Ren stood in the corner, his arm throbbing and his mind racing. He was now "marked" by the school, tethered to Cian by the collar, and blackmailed by Julian.
He felt like was falling into a trap.
When they finally left the Chamber, the sun was at its setting stage.
"Back to the tower," Cian commanded. "We leave for the forest at dawn. 4092, go to the kitchens. You'll be packing the supplies for the Hunt. And don't eat anything—I want your core as empty as possible before we hit the woods. The hungrier you are, the more you can take from me."
Ren bowed, his head hanging low. He hated this. "Yes, Your Highness."
As Cian and Kael walked ahead, Julian lingered. He leaned against a pillar, watching Ren with those predatory emerald eyes.
"That was a close one in there, Zero," Julian whispered. "I almost thought you were going to turn the High Sage into a husk. That would have been... messy to explain."
Ren looked at his feet. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't," Julian laughed, a light, melodic sound. "But remember what Elias told you? The magic turns to stone if you don't weave it. You're holding a lot of Cian's lightning inside you right now. If you don't find a way to let it out before the Hunt, you're going to explode. And I'd hate to lose my favorite new toy before the games even begin."
Julian walked away, leaving Ren alone in the hallway.
Ren looked down at his palm. The third stitch was almost finished.
It was beautiful, a shimmering line of moonlight that felt warm against his skin. But Julian was right. He could feel the "static" of Cian's magic vibrating in his veins, looking for an exit.
He needed a Loom. He needed to create something, or the stolen power would destroy him from the inside out.
He wanted to make his way toward the kitchens, but his feet and mind had other plans. He found himself at the edge of the Academy's Great Garden, near a small, forgotten fountain overgrown with weeds.
He sat down and opened his hand.
Purify it, the book had said. The Weaver is the hand that mends the ash.
Ren closed his eyes and focused on the jagged, white-blue energy he had taken from Cian.
He didn't know what to do. Neither had he done it before but curiosity got to him. He focused on the thread and the static energy. He imagined his fingers were needles, and the energy was thread. He began to pull the static into a single, straight line.
He didn't realize he was doing it until a small, soft sound reached his ears.
The beating of wings.
He opened his eyes.
Between his hands, he had woven a small, glowing butterfly. It wasn't made of light; it was made of refined mana. It fluttered its wings once, twice, and then dissolved into a shower of silver sparks.
The pressure in Ren's chest eased. The headache vanished.
"You're a fast learner." A voice echoed.
Ren jumped, spinning around. But there was no one there. Only the rustle of leaves and the distant sound of the training grounds.
He tucked his hand back into his sleeve and hurried toward the kitchens. He had a Hunt to prepare for.
He had to be the "trash can" for the three Princes. But as he walked, he felt a spark of something he hadn't felt since he arrived at the North Tower.
It wasn't hope. It was power.
And for a Weaver, they were the exact same thing.
Ren got to the kitchens, the warmth there not getting to him at all. It wasn't like their normal canteen back in the laundry sides where the scholarship students were
The head cook was a woman with arms like cured ham and had eyes like she had seen too many royal tantrums. She shoved a heavy crate toward him.
"The Prince's rations," she barked. "And the sedative-infused meat for the hounds. Don't mix them up, Null, unless you want to see what a Prince looks like when he can't wake up."
Ren began packing the heavy leather bags. His arm where the brand sat was still pulsing. As he reached for the final tin of tea—the sandalwood blend Julian favored—his hand brushed against a small, wax-sealed parchment tucked into the bottom of the crate.
'How was he always seeing pieces of papers?' He wondered. He hoped this one was a grocery list
It wasn't a grocery list.
He opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a hand-drawn map of the Obsidian Forest, but certain areas were marked with a symbol Ren recognized from the Drip-Stone Archives. The symbol for Containment Breach.
Beneath the map, a single line was written in elegant, ink:
"When the lightning strikes the root, the Sinkhole must be open. Do not let him return."
Ren's breath hitched.
He was sure this had nothing to do with hunting. It sounded like an assassination. And according to the note, he wasn't the bait—he was the weapon intended to be used.
He heard a footstep behind him and quickly shoved the note into his tunic, right against his heart.
"Almost done?"
It was Kael. The warrior stood in the doorway, his silhouette blocking out the light from the hallway. He looked at the crates, then at Ren's pale face.
"The Prince is waiting," Kael said, his voice unusually soft. "Eat something. I won't tell him."
Kael tossed a small, hard crust of bread onto the table and walked away.
Ren stared at the bread, then at the spot where the note was hidden. He had a choice to make before dawn.
He didn't fully understand what was going on but he got the picture of it.
He could save the man who choked him, or he could let the threads of the Empire unravel in the dark.